Örlendr
by Lady-Gwen-of-Her-Mind
Summary: Jasper's existence is tormented by the ghosts of his past. When Alice finds him, she brings some inkling of hope for happiness and peace, but due to his history, "happiness" is hard to understand and realize. Just when he resigns to his new reality under the thumb of an overbearing coven, everything changes with a chance meeting from someone Jasper knew long ago.


Hello! Thank you so much for stopping by!

There are a few housekeeping things to note:

Anything in italics is personal thoughts/internal dialogue.

This story is semi-AU, with some slightly different character backgrounds, and vampires that are only somewhat alike to Meyer's original intent.

Altered B/G Elements of Note:  
-Vampires must rest every few days-especially after hunting-so they enter a trance-like state (similar to elves in DnD), but for all intents and purposes is essentially sleep, as they can dream.  
-Vampires can maintain mental and physical disabilities if they were significant during life, just like the "gifts" that some have (ex: schizophrenia, a limp from Polio, etc.)  
-They can eat and drink regular foods, but digesting it is much easier when having consumed blood recently.  
-Vampires can be affected by alcohol and other drugs, particularly if they have drunk blood (substances in blood also can affect them), although it is a much duller response.  
-Fire is really the only way to kill them outright, but only after prolonged exposure (therefore can smoke).  
-They must breathe at some point, but they can hold their breath for quite a while.  
-They do not, under any circumstance, sparkle. Thus, they can be exposed to sunlight, but it is draining for them after a while.

I promise the story is better written than this, but I just needed to clarify these few things before getting started.

***Rating subject to change***

If you have any questions, comments, concerns, or just like the story, please feel free to leave a note! Feedback is much appreciated!

Chapter One: The Woman

_June 1954_

Horses were screaming silently, bucking and rearing with an unadulterated fear that was mirrored in the eyes of men trying to put on a brave face and serge ever forward into the line of fire. The burn of gunpowder singed the nostrils and mingled with the stench of sweat. Even then, the undeniable scent of blood permeated the air as it stained hands, earth, and history. He could see mouths moving, see his colonel shouting orders, but no sound permeated the ringing that would continue reverberating evermore in his ears.

He knew not what battle it was. Nor had ever he been able to discern it, despite its repetition every time he succumbed to an uneasy sleep. The nightmare was always the same, a reminder of the inescapable horrors that shaped his past, present, and future. It was a paralyzing constant, plaguing each waking and sleeping moment.

But, all wars, whether in real-time or mere recollections, were like that. Omnipresent in every aspect of reality, an inexorable truth of humanity. Some were just better suited—better adapted—to it. They were the ones to be feared.

Jasper's eyes snapped open as he bolted upright, a sharp rap at the door jolting him from his paralytic trance. He blinked, ears still ringing faintly as he returned to the material world, dark eyes adjusting to the bright sunlight streaming through the curtains into the dusty room.

The knock came again, this time distinctly more impatient. "Housekeeping!"

Jasper stood from the bed and stretched, flicking the lamp on and off repetitively, until it felt right. He adjusted the worn Bible on the nightstand until it was aligned perpendicular to the wall.

The door swung open with a jingling of keys and a bang as he finished his task. Irritation and the stink of stale liquor filled the room before the heavyset woman—heart beating a little too fast—barged in. "Mornin' mister, you overslept. Check out time was at 11:00. It's 11:30 now. You better either scram or pay up for another night. But mind you, I ain't cleanin' this room if you ain't leavin'" she huffed, dragging an already antique vacuum into the entryway of the hotel room.

Jasper glanced at the clock on the nightstand, its hands frozen at 8:15. _Shit. _"I'm sorry ma'am. It seems the clock here is broken," his voiced cracked from disuse as he turned to smooth down the bedsheets, forcing down the urge to remake the bed in its entirety.

Her pulse thundered in the small space, momentarily distracting him. "That ain't my problem. Just get out so I can get to work, or get your lazy ass down to the front desk and pay for another night."

This woman was rude. Overweight, and a bit too old to be doing strenuous physical labor. She wasn't wearing a wedding ring. She would be an easy target, he would only have to step over and grab—"I'm all packed up ma'am. I was plannin' on headin' out this mornin'. I'm sorry for…" He laid his accent on a bit too thick, flashing a toothy smile and a wave of calm in her direction. _Yes. She would do nicely._

The housekeeper's emotions shifted quickly from irritated to exasperated. "Fine, fine. Get out with ya then. Flirtin' won't do you no good here. 'Specially with that Yank accent. You're in Alabama now fella'." She pushed the vacuum into the room, searching for the outlet amongst the peeling wallpaper.

Although irritated, he respected the woman's commitment to her position and the lack of effect of his gift on her. Even if her methods were uncouth. And she thought him, HIM a Yankee. Pushing down the thirst and overwhelming desire to bite down onto her fleshy neck, he held his breath and reached into his pocket for his wallet, placing a few dollar tip on the nightstand beside the Bible. The blood of an irritable human like the hotel maid was never satisfying, leaving him ill-tempered and unfulfilled for days after. Without a word, Jasper snatched up his suit jacket, several-day-old newspaper, and worn, hideous pea-green suitcase from its place against the wall and left in a huff, striding out a bit too quickly.

Away from the dingy hotel, he finally took a breath, the polluted air of Birmingham—and smell of thousands of pints of blood encased beneath feeble, sweaty human skin—filling his lungs as the hot July sun beat down, cooking people and pavement alike. He pulled on his jacket over his long-sleeved turtleneck and tucked the newspaper under his arm, noticing a curious look from a passing mother tugging along a red-faced child by the hand. Their heat-beats pounded in his head, accompanying the unshakable ringing in a cacophonous, discordant symphony. Jasper glanced at the pair as they crossed the street, the taste of venom thick in his mouth. _NO. Not them._

He turned and stalked in the opposite direction, forcing himself to pay attention to his surroundings, to the need to wash the grime of the hotel off of his hands, instead of the overwhelming hunger rising in his throat. Jasper entered a diner a few blocks away that did not appear to be too filthy, first entering the restroom to scrub his hands a few too many times with the sliver of soap kept wrapped in a bit of handkerchief in the back pocket of his trousers.

He settled into a booth near the back of the fairly empty establishment, ordering a cup of coffee from the waiter who quickly arrived to take his order. He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a small matchbook and cigarette from a tarnished silver case—_only two left_—lighting it and drawing a deep breath in one smooth motion, with an ease found only among those who had been smoking for years (or over a century).

Jasper unfolded the still-crisp newspaper and settled back uneasily against the red vinyl of the seat, as the waiter brought the coffee and an ashtray without a word. Absently, he wiped away a tiny smudge of ash on the latter with a napkin before trading his cigarette for the steaming coffee. He, like all other vampires, could still eat human food if they so desired, but the act of digesting it—particularly without blood also coursing through them—was less than pleasant. But the earthy taste of a dark roast always brought him a hint of comfort, reminding him of times long forgotten and faces faded from memory.

Returning to his paper and his smoke, he looked at the words unseeing as he contemplated his next meal, attempting to ignore the swirling emotions and sweet song of countless pulses around him. _Gotta leave Birmingham. Three prostitutes and a drug addict in one night is too conspicuous. Let alone the eight others, drained and lifeless, buried under piles of trash in dark alleyways around the city. _

The bell above the door clanged loudly, dragging Jasper away from his thoughts. He flicked the ash off the smoldering tip of the Lucky Strike and took another drag, focusing back on the inked words and thoughts as he exhaled.

"Smoking isn't good for you, you know." The undeniably melodic sound of a female vampire jolted him to attention, immediately cautious as he glanced up at the newcomer. Her emotions were the first thing he noticed—as they always were—but they did not appear hostile or even apprehensive. Rather, it was waves of reassurance, joy, and curiosity emanating from the tiny, elfin woman with cropped brain hair, an appalling yellow dress, and golden—_golden?—_eyes before him. He did not let his guard down but did not put down his cigarette in the hope she would not see his hand shaking, would not sense any possible attack. He had not encountered another vampire in nearly six years, let alone one not intent on harming him.

The woman sat down uninvited across the table, her musical, albeit tinny voice was overly cheerful when she continued, "Don't worry Jasper, I'm not going to hurt you. I have visions about the future, and I've been seeing you in them for a long time now. I think we're supposed to be together." She snatched the paper out of Jasper's hand, crumpling it irreparably, "I've envisioned this meeting a lot, and no matter what choices you've made so far, it's always happened the exact same way. I know it sounds crazy, but I feel like I've known you all my life."

_Resist the urge to rip the stupid newspaper out of her hands and make it right again, goddamnit. She is definitely a threat…could be a trap. _She was not the first vampire gifted with subjective precognition he had encountered, and they were always unpredictable and particularly reckless. Jasper was about to speak when the waiter arrived again to take the newcomer's order. With a smile sweeter than honey, she requested a chocolate milkshake and an order of fries, before turning back to face Jasper.

In a voice too low for the human patrons to hear, Jasper growled, "I don't know who the hell you are, or how you know my name, but if the Volturi sent you, we have a long-standing agreement. I'm entitled to speak to 'em before they take any action against me."

Her tinkling laugh drew the attention of a couple sitting a few tables away, but she spoke softly. "I'm not from the Volturi, silly. I do know a lot about you, but I've seen many of our conversations already, so that's why. Like I said, I have had—even since before my change—visions of the future that normally come true. And this one of us meeting…" a heaping plate of steaming french fries and the milkshake were placed down in front of the golden-eyed woman, and she thanked the waiter sweetly as he placed the checked in front of Jasper and stepped away before continuing: "I've had this same vision hundreds of times, and you always ask me that. You're always cautious. You're always untrusting at first. You always spill your coffee messing with your stupid newspaper, so you get mad and try to leave. But you never do, and it always works out. You always come with me."

She tried to take a sip of the shake before deciding it would be a better approach to dip the fries into the thick chocolate, eyes flicking back to Jasper expectantly. He crushed the smoking butt of the cigarette he forgot he was holding into the ashtray, pulling out and lighting another. With one hand, he snapped the worn case closed and shoved it back into his pocket, taking a moment to inhale deeply to settle his nerves and attempt to ignore the itch in his fingertips to fix the item she predicted would undoubtedly ruin his suit. He kept his gaze trained on her hands, focusing on her fingers, on her emotions, as telltale signs of intent. There was a brief flash of irritation detected, but it quickly subsided into excessively cheerful and calming as she continued to enjoy her order. _She clearly knew about the gift._

"Jasper, I know you fought in the Civil War. I know you were involved in the southern territory wars. I know you did some terrible things, but I know that I already forgive you for them." She reached out a hand suddenly, gently touching his forearm resting defensively on the table.

He immediately jerked backward, too quickly than acceptable in the presence of humans, absently dragging the accursed newspaper with his hand, baring his teeth and retreating into the corner of the booth. With the motion, the nearly forgotten mug of coffee tipped, sending its contents all over the week-old paper and onto Jasper's lap.

"Fuckin' shit!" Angry expletives carried through the restaurant, drawing disapproving frowns the from other patrons—_they smelled so delicious—_as he grabbed a handful of napkins from the holder in an attempt to save his new charcoal trousers. _No stains. No stains. Ruined. Ruined. Ruined. _

"I'm sorry your suit got ruined. But it was supposed to happen this way. I have new clothes for you already in my car that I bought last week when I saw in the papers that they found those drained girls down in Phenix City," she said, matter-of-factly.

He glared at the woman sitting across from him while he tried to salvage the hem of his white shirt. The vampire smiled at him smugly. Jasper bared his teeth again and slammed the handful of napkins down much harder than anticipated, denting the aluminum banding on the table. He pulled out his wallet and through several bills too many onto the table and reached for his suitcase. The elfin woman sent a wave of calm towards him, putting a delicate hand atop his suitcase as he made to leave, almost touching his scarred arm.

"Jasper, please. I know you don't know me, but you have to trust me. I've foreseen us for years…I am your future, and you are mine." She pleaded, looking deep into his black eyes, "At least let me get you the new clothes…it's my fault yours got ruined."

Jasper was seething, although he tried to keep his rage under control and isolated. The ringing grew louder as he counted to one hundred in the language of much of his childhood. Somewhere through the haze and methodological process, he noticed the irritatingly cheerful sounds of the Chordette's _Mr. Sandman_ playing from the jukebox. _No (trì), no (ceithier), no (còig), don't go with her (sia). Run away as fast as possible (seachd), and don't look back (ochd). _"Fine. Can't very well go around looking like this."

Her golden eyes shone brighter than when she first entered the diner with triumph. "I knew you'd say that!" She stood and bounced to the music a bit as she danced towards the door. Jasper followed with his luggage in hand, frustrated and on high-alert, but incredibly intrigued by the strange pixie invading his solitude. He blamed his following her on naught but bizarre fascination, rationalizing that she would likely be easy to overpower in the event of an attack.

When they stepped outside into the sunny, crowded street, Jasper's throat ached, but he pushed the thirst away. She pulled an obnoxious pair of sunglasses out of a handbag he had not noticed she had as she looked him up and down. "Jeez, Jasper, you're a lot taller than I thought. I hope the stuff fits you…If not, well, they'll be capris I guess until we find something else."

Jasper did not have the opportunity to respond before the woman grabbed his hand—_let GO goddamnit!—_and dragged him a few blocks away. She was practically vibrating with excitement when they arrived at a bright yellow Corvette, its top down.

The stranger grabbed Jasper's suitcase and tossed it in the trunk amongst the numerous shopping bags. She skipped to the driver's side and got in, looking up expectantly over the top of her glasses at the very confused and overwhelmed man towering over her. "Well? You coming? I know you said you only here for the clothes, but you and I both know that's not the truth."

Jasper hesitated for a moment before opening the car door. _WHAT ARE YOU DOING! DON'T GET IN THE CAR! _The car's engine revved loudly as he settled in. "Jaz, grab the scarf out of the glove compartment, would you? Oh! And there's some sunglasses in there for you too, if you want them." He did as he was told, handing the silk in question to the woman. She tied it around her head as he slipped on the glasses. _Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. RUN. _

"I like those on you. I'm glad I picked them out. They'll do you well where we're going," she proclaimed, car lurching away from the curb, "I'm Alice, by the way. Nice to finally meet you."

A/N

Jasper is the child of Irish immigrants and sharecroppers who emigrated to Virginia (not Texas) and learned Gaelic first before English. He does have a southern accent, but he remembers some words even after the change.

Alice was only 17 when she was changed (in 1949), so she will act significantly younger than in the books.

Thank you so much for reading! Please let me know your thoughts!


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